


The Tequila Elves are Fucking Assholes

by Flufflybunnypants



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cats, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, Hungover Dean, M/M, hungover cas, truthfully not that much sam or jess sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufflybunnypants/pseuds/Flufflybunnypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean keeps ending up hungover in his brother's neighbour's apartment. Cas is beginning to wish the green-eyed stranger who keeps miraculously climbing his fire escape would learn to use the front door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tequila Elves are Fucking Assholes

The first time Dean wakes up on the super-squishy couch, he’s reluctant to move. At least until someone tutting near his head brings him into the icy cold realization that this is  ** _not_**  Sammy’s place. Sam would just shove his hungover ass off Sam’s decidedly saggier couch.

Dean looks up, to find a man in blue pajama pants and nothing else. He’s got a hickey under his ear and his hair makes him look like he’s been fucked six ways to Sunday. 

"Who are you," Dean groans. The tiny tequila elves in his brain are fucking assholes.

"I’m pretty sure that’s my line," the man growls, though Dean’s pretty sure that’s just his voice and not actual impending violence. The man rubs his temples vigorously, and Dean thinks, maybe, this guy might be more hungover than Dean.

The man claps his hand over his mouth, mumbles, “Don’t piss off Occasa or Ortus,” then sprints back into the other part of the apartment. The sound of painful retching follows rapidly.

Dean sits up slowly. He presumes that o-whatevers are the names of the cats sitting on his ankles. He dislodges them successfully, leaving them curled on the end of the sofa. Dean notices, now that he’s relatively vertical, that he seems to have misplaced his shirt. And his jacket. And by extension, his keys, wallet and his miniature rubix cube. He likes his rubix cube.

The heaving sounds painful, so Dean goes to check on the guy. He crashed on a stranger’s couch. The least he can do is make sure the dude’s okay.

He walks through an extraordinarily clean bedroom(not an alcoholic then) and peeks his head into the bathroom. The man is hugging the bowl, a little flushed and sweating.

"Hey, you okay there?"

The man gestures him closer, and Dean goes, a little hesitant. He gestures increasingly insistently until Dean’s ear is by his mouth. “Don’t. Ask. Stupid. Questions.”

That is a very nice voice, and wholly inappropriate thoughts spring to mind.  _At least nothing else springs—no, Dean_ , he warns himself. Dean is going to behave. “What happened to you?”

"I was at a bar."

"And?"

"I drank it," the man snarls, then slumps.

Dean snickers at that. Little dude’s got some fight in him, even while hugging a toilet bowl. This close, Dean can tell he’s got a few inches on the guy, but they’re both proportionally muscled. As if on cue, the man starts puking again. 

Dean has a headache, sure, but at least he isn’t throwing up. He reaches out and tentatively touches the man’s shoulder.

"I haven’ done that since college," the man says in between upchucking.

Dean rubs the guy’s back and hums softly. Poor dude is green to the gills. When the man is done, he tries to stand, but doesn’t even get halfway. Dean slips an arm around him and guides him to bed. He fishes in the bathroom cabinet for a couple aspirin and fills a glass of water in the neat kitchenette. He sets them by the guy’s bedside table and walks out. He’s taken care of drunk friends before. The guy’ll be okay.

Dean grabs himself a glass of water, to try and drown the elves in his brain. His jacket is in the kitchen, but he doesn’t have a damn clue where his shirt is. He sighs and pulls the jacket over his bare skin. The cats’ food bowls are nearly empty, so Dean gives them both a bit more and leaves a note that says, “Sorry, hope you feel better,” on the counter and walks out the front door.

It’s the fifth time that Dean thinks there might actually be a problem. Sam is both baffled and highly amused. He knows about his neighbor down the hall, doesn’t know the guy well, but trusts he isn’t a psychopath. Sam just doesn’t understand why Dean chooses to climb a fire escape— while drunk— to reach Sam, and then somehow misses by about three apartments.

The second time was weird, neither of them badly hungover, realizing they didn’t know each other’s names. He introduces himself as Dean; the guy says he’s Castiel.  Dean awkwardly leaves, once again without his shirt. He misses those shirts. The third time, Cas was only slightly hungover, so he made breakfast and he and Dean shared a quiet meal and the newspaper.  _Those were some good eggs_ , Dean muses. The fourth time, after the aspirin kicked in, they actually did talk, about music, their families, whatever. Cas is a pretty cool dude.

This fifth time, it’s oddly simple. Dean’s first thought upon waking up is  _when did Sam get cats?_  The second,  _aw crap, this is Cas’ place._  Dean should probably be worried that he feels a surge of fondness for the guy whose apartment he keeps drunkenly breaking into. Though, apparently, Dean is a really quiet and subtle drunk who just waltzes into people’s homes to nap. Dean gets up, scrounges around, and actually happens upon the t-shirt he lost here a few weeks ago. He walks into the kitchen and feeds the cats. He just hates the thought of them being hungry until Cas gets up. Cas walks in, wearing jeans, what looks to be Dean’s t-shirt from the first time he stumbled into Cas’ apartment, and a tan overcoat.

Cas points at him and says, in that deep voice that sinks into Dean’s bones in the most pleasant way, “If you drive to IHOP, we can get french toast.”

Dean bites his lip for a second then shrugs.”You’re buying.”

Cas nods agreeably. “Fair enough. You might want some pants first.”

Dean looks down and squeaks. He’s only wearing boxers. “Shit, sorry.” He dashes back to the living room, where thankfully, his pants are. He tugs them on viciously. “Sorry, Cas. I don’t know-“

"Are you…occupied today?"

"Busy, you mean? No, why?" Dean is completely derailed by the change in subject.

"Because after breakfast, you and I are going to go for a walk. And somewhere between now and the end of our walk, I’m going to decide where we’re going for dinner tonight."

"Are you asking me out?"

"It’s more convenient if you end up half-naked in my bed when we get home, instead of me finding you in the morning on my couch. Be easier on both of us, really. Especially because I worry about your ability to climb a fire escape while drunk."

Dean is speechless. It sounds like an invitation he’d not only say yes to, but maybe also thrust his fist in the air like Judd Nelson at the end of the Breakfast Club. He manages, barely, “French toast?”

"French toast," Cas nods imperiously.

—————-

Four years later, after they’ve said their vows, exchanged rings (Dean talked Cas out of making Occasa and Ortus the ring bearers) and drunk enough champagne to be giddy, Jess asks them a question.

"Was it weird for you guys to move in together?" Dean knows the context; she and Sam have been contemplating moving in together.

"Well," Cas begins, leaning into Dean. "technically speaking, for weeks we slept in-"

Dean cuts off the embarrassing answer to that question by kissing it out of Cas’s mouth. Cas deepens the kiss, and Dean is thankful that they are newlyweds and anything short of fucking at the reception is fine.

In the meantime, Sam explains their beginning to Jess, who falls helplessly into laughter at the thought of Dean regularly climbing a fire escape to pass out on true love’s couch. 

"It’s like Romeo and Juliet, but with even more alcohol and poor decisions!" Sam laughs too, before kicking Dean in the shins.

"Jesus, you two, take a breather."

"You’re lucky you’re my only family, asshole. I’m married. We can suck face whenever we want. We have a whole honeymoon-"

"Enough, Dean! God, there are some things a man doesn’t need to know about his brother."

Cas leans over and whispers in Dean’s ear. “Do you want to go get drunk and see if we can climb the fire escape one more time before we move out?”

"Hell yes." Dean is married to the best fucking person in the whole world. And the cats are great too. Even if Dean can’t make them stop stealing his socks.


End file.
